The Father of The Sons
by em12jay
Summary: John Teller's life is consumed by his family, motorcycle club and job. However with a slumping business the club is forced to get their hands dirty for income. John has many fears as the Sons descend further into Anarchy. Has he pushed his wife into the arms of his best friend? What will become of his 16 year old son Jackson?
1. Chapter 1

A dust covered desk sat neglected in the office of Teller-Morrow Auto Repair. John Teller had avoided the book work for weeks, knowing that the numbers held no good news. Only one of two garages in the small town of Charming, business had slumped along with their reputation in recent years.

"Bobby, do you think you can help me with some numbers this afternoon?" John asked as he walked into the dimly lit clubhouse which resided on the same lot as the shop. The clubhouse was home to Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club, and a beloved refuge for its members. The mismatched decor and smell of smoky liquor surely reflected that the space was utilized by a group of blue collar men approaching middle age.

A bushel of wild dark hair raised itself from behind the bar in response, "Sorry John" Bobby's words slurred "tomorrow might be a better day." He set a bottle of whiskey on the bar, knowing he needed more sobriety to accurately cook the books.

"Jesus buddy, it's ten thirty in the morning. Did you drink that all yourself?" John asked, noting that the bottle was nearly empty. A familiar baritone heavy laugh from the floor answered his question. He leaned over the bar to see his business partner and best friend Clay Morrow slumped by Bobby's feet. His salt and pepper hair was unwashed and greasy and a visible amount of stubble had grown across his face, covering his prominent chin and strong cheeks. Clay's red tired eyes gave away his drunken state and yesterday's clothes indicated that he'd spent another night at the club.

While their failing business had driven John to a state of constant stress, Clay seemed to be unperturbed and indulgent. Clay was a carefree bachelor, childless and happy with pure independence at 39. John, the same age had a wife with expensive taste and a recently licensed son with eyes on a used motorcycle of his own. It was no wonder that the weight of the shop and the club were heavier on John's shoulders. In the past their roles were very different. It had been Clay's idea for them to start the repair shop. It was he who put together a business plan and acquired the necessary loans while John was absent in favor of long rides and empty bottles. Twenty years young, idealistic Clay and John had happy days in the garage, gathering friends and customers, particularly popular among the motorcycle crowd. After a year customers turned into casual friends who became brothers once John had the idea for SAMCRO.

"It's been a long night for me and Bobby boy here. Should've seen this redhead, she might still be in the back if you want a peek." Clay's offer didn't interest his partner. John bit his tongue and left Clay and Bobby pouring themselves more drinks and laughing over things the redhead had done the night before.

Out in the garage the clubs prospect, Juice, awaited work with John. Juice was only eighteen and given the chance to prospect because he'd been good friends with John's son throughout high school. With a lot of heart, and no diploma Juice reminded John of himself at that age, except he'd had slightly more sense. Most recently Juice had stolen a 1967 Impala in an attempt to impress the club and be involved in insurance scams they'd been running through the shop. What Juice failed to understand was that the scams were done in participation with car owners who later split the claims with the Sons who later stripped the cars and reused the parts they needed.

"Boss I fixed the steering column in the Impala and brought it around to the back lot. It's under the blue tarp for now." Juice had been eager to fix his mistake, now aware that the beautifully restored classic was sure to bring heat. "What do you want me working on for today?"

John punished Juice with menial tasks most of the afternoon, and let him help out with a couple of big jobs. The day was uneventful, neither Clay nor Bobby made it out to the garage even once. At 5 pm, John dismissed Juice and hopped on his own motorcycle. The sun was high and the black leather seat of his soft tail was warm. He longed for the freedom of a long ride and curving asphalt but instead went straight home.

Their three bedroom house looked quaint and pleasant on the corner of Oxley Ave. The neighborhood was comfortable but not particularly flashy or rich, occupants of the ranch style homes ranged from retiree's to newlyweds. John rumbled into the driveway and walked in the door where he was greeted by yet another battle between Jackson and Gemma. Before John could catch their argument Jackson slammed his bedroom door and Gemma stormed into the kitchen. Her eyes flashed at John with an accusing glare.

"It's about time you got home." As if he'd specifically delayed himself to avoid them. "You need to tell Jax he's staying here. He's had dinner with his little girlfriend and her family three nights this week and just asked to go to the cottage with them. Can you imagine that? A weekend in the mountains with those bible-thumping hippies."

John could understand Jax's need to escape. Their house was small and thick with hostility for the past few months. John could also hear the rejection in Gemma's strong voice, scared to be losing her son who was only a couple years away from adulthood.

"Gem, he likes Tara. That's it. He's a sixteen year old boy, can't you let him have his fun?" His words were meant to be casual and persuasive but only infuriated Gemma more. "Besides if he's gone for the weekend we have some time for ourselves." She crossed her arms and avoided his touch. The only way to soften her would be to do as she asked.

John walked down the carpeted hallway and knocked lightly on Jax's door before letting himself in. He intended to compromise with the boy, possibly bribe him, anything for an evening of peace. Looking into his son's bedroom, John knew that was a lost cause, as the window was open with the screen popped out and Jackson was gone.

"Goddamnit!" John's shout resonated through the house as he slammed the window shut.

"He ran out again didn't he?" Gemma asked as John returned to the kitchen. "Damn kid." She didn't wait for his answer.

"Yeah well I wonder where he gets it." John's retort dug at his wife. They both knew that while Jax had inherited his father's shaggy blonde hair and light blue eyes, his boldness and headstrong attitude was all Gemma.

"Oh right. Great. Everything that kid does is my fault these days isn't it? Maybe if you were around more you could take a little responsibility." The edge in her voice dared John to fight with her. Gemma valued kinship above all else. Not just within the Teller home but extending to the club as her immediate family. She often cooked elaborate meals for its many members and hosted barbecues and parties for them all. But lately John had withdrawn, coming home late and leaving early. She didn't like being cut off from her husband and the club in this way. His secrets meant she was losing control as a guide in the decisions he was making.

John didn't take the bait Gemma dangled in front of him. Instead he quietly sat at the table and began sorting through the mail that awaited him. She too retreated, finishing the dinner she'd begun to cook during her argument with Jackson. Plating the meal, she set a dish in front of John as a silent apology for her harshness. John accepted by throwing a small smile her way.

The years may have aged John with a few crow's feet and his once sunny hair was now darkened to a dirty blonde with sparse greys, but his smile remained unchanged. Boyish and intoxicating, John's smile and laugh had been what first drew Gemma to him. Twenty years later it was rarer to see but still just as infatuating.

"Baby," she sat across from him "Did you talk to Clay about Chibb's offer yet?" Chibbs was one of the clubs newer members, a Scottish man who'd only moved to California a couple years before. John was unsure of how he'd ended up in Charming but he liked Chibbs. He had some shady contacts and yet was a witty and warm guy. John felt he was trustworthy. It was he who pushed for Chibbs membership at the end of his prospect year.

"No." His tone was that of warning.

"You've got to do what's best for everyone, John." Gemma pushed on "Luanne was by today, told me Otto hasn't gotten his cut yet from last weeks jobs. The cars aren't cutting it. That's small time stuff." This was why John had stopped telling her club business. She'd been pushing for John to let Clay move forward with Chibbs suggestion. The Scotsman still had contacts from Belfast, rich men dealing in dirty business. He'd offered to put his name on the line and set up a meeting with these men to discuss the Sons future.

John left Gemma's comments unacknowledged, finishing his dinner and silence before tossing his plate in the sink. From the table she heard him walk out the front door and felt the thunder as he started his engine. She walked to the window just into to catch a glimpse of his back as he rode away.


	2. Chapter 2

Gemma sighed and tossed her own dish in the sink along with Johns, covering them both in dish soap and running hot water. She stood over the sink as it filled trying to control her frustration. Inside, she wanted to scream and to sob. Ever since Jackson was born they'd been a perfect family. A little rougher around the edges than the American dream with their leather jackets, long hair and tattooed bodies, John and Gemma had been the picture of happiness. Jax used to think his parents were cool, joining them at the clubhouse and various rallies.

The past year had been difficult though. Gemma floundered to guide John in the right direction, to steer the club into prosperity instead of struggling to stay afloat. She knew Chibbs work would be risky, but they just had to be smart about it. Working with the Irish would not only secure the family financially, but it would back the club as the most powerful gang in the area. 'How can John be so blind?' Gemma wondered as she turned off the tap and began to absently wash and dry the dishes. 'It's just one word. Just say yes.' Her mind urged him.

Gemma knew that it would never be that easy to convince him. One of the things she loved about John was that he was kind hearted, but now it was that same quality that stood in her way. They both knew the only interest the Irish would have in a Southern Californian biker gang would be to expand their gun trade. John shied away from the violence and couldn't man up enough to do what was best.

Moving quietly through the empty house, Gemma spent the next couple of hours cleaning unnecessarily to occupy herself. She'd been on her hands and knees bleaching the bathroom floor when the phone rang. She raised herself and hurried to the kitchen to silence its echoing shrill.

"Hello?" Her voice was polite but annoyed to be called at nearly 9:30 at night.

"Mrs. Teller?" A familiar voice spoke officially back to her "This is Deputy Wayne Unser from the Charming police department."

"Which one of my boys have you got tonight Unser?"

"Jax is here, Opie too. One of my patrolmen picked them up behind the high school for public intoxication. Might be a good idea to come get them both." Wayne had always been kind and lenient with the Tellers.

"I'm on my way." She hung up the phone, grabbed her purse and keys and walked out the door. She lit a cigarette as she rolled out of the driveway. Instead of heading directly to her son, she decided to give him a little extra time in a jail cell to think. Let him wonder if she would come at all. Killing time she went to the clubhouse in search of her husband. Gemma strolled right in – a privilege denied to most of the other women. Chibbs and Bobby politely nodded her way and went back to playing pool. Clay sat at the bar while Juice poured him a drink, and John was nowhere to be seen. Gemma's heels clicked along the cracking tiles of the ceramic floor, silencing only once she'd climbed into a barstool next to Clay and demanded a whiskey and coke from Juice.

"That's a stiff drink for a Thursday night." Clay commented.

"Your one to talk." Gemma casually responded. "Looks like you've been here awhile." She wasn't wrong. Clay had finally changed his clothes but had yet to shower or shave.

"Why leave paradise?" He shrugged and she laughed. Gemma and Clay had developed quite a friendship over the years through John. Initially she hadn't found him attractive at all. After twenty years he'd grown into his features and broad shoulders. No longer a lanky nineteen year old, Clay was strong and masculine. His deep voice easily commanded a room.

Gemma was quite similar to Clay. She too had strong features, and her presence demanded respect from everyone around her. Her head was always held high, her shoulders and back straight. She kept her dark hair brushed back away from her face to reveal her dark deep set eyes. Clay looked into those eyes as he enjoyed her smile. They sat quietly for a few minutes, each nursing their drinks.

"He's not here, you know." Clay assumed she hadn't come to the club just for his company.

"Yeah, I'd hoped he would be though. Jax and Ope got picked up tonight, Unser's waiting on me to get them off the hook." She took another long sip from her glass.

"I could go with you." Clay offered to fill in for John on more than one occasion.

"No, you might get locked up yourself looking like that." He chuckled at her insult while she took one last gulp to empty her drink. "I'll see you tomorrow." Gemma stood and sauntered away.

"Always a pleasure." Clay raised his glass and watched the way her body moved until she'd disappeared out the door.

The drive to the police station was short; Gemma had barely finished another cigarette when she parked out front, carelessly blocking in two cruisers. Unser approached her as soon as she walked into the bull pen, and she followed him into the cells.

Behind the iron bars her son leaned against the peeling yellow paint of the cinder block walls. His arms were crossed and his eyes were downcast. Attitude emanated from the boy. Next to him Opie sat on the steel bench bolted to the wall. Opie's elbows rested on his knees and propped his head in his hands. His jaw was slack and a bit of what Gemma assumed was vomit clung to the chest of his shirt.

"About time you showed up." Jax could have been more appreciative to see his mother.

"That's a good look for you, sitting in a cell. You want me to leave you hear over night? You two could get real comfortable." Gemma's threat was empty and everyone but Opie knew it.

"Please no." The drunk teen groaned without lifting his head, "Gem I gotta," he heaved "I gotta go home." Opie was the son of an original member of SAMCRO, Piney Winston. Gemma had raised him nearly as much as she'd raised Jax, and right now, she liked him a little better.

"Alright, Unser, let them out. I got it from here." The deputy acknowledge Gemma's request, keying open the cage and standing aside for the boys to file out. "Anything you need me to sign for their release?"

"You know better than that. This one is off the books." The aging deputy's voice was gruff as he ran a hand through his thinning white hair. Gemma knew that Unser was always going to go easy on her. Only fifteen years her senior, Wayne had always seemed to have fatherly tendencies for Gemma. He looked the other way on her family's transgressions, making many headaches disappear. Wayne Unser and the club were always on good terms and he'd been a helpful contact to have within the police department.

Jax swaggered out of the cell with an offensive amount of confidence. Opie staggered behind him, fighting the effects of the alcohol. Gemma led them through the office and out to the car, giving Unser a thankful wave before driving off.

The ride home was short but silent. Opie lurched out before the car had completely stopped in the driveway, disappearing around the side of the garage with distinguishable retching. Jackson and Gemma lingered outside the car. Both leaned against its shiny black body, quiet and tense.

"Have anything you want to say to me?" It was Gemma who first spoke.

"Thanks for coming to get us, I guess." Jackson's voice was soft and quiet. He kept his head down and his hands in his pockets.

Gemma knew it would be a long shot to get an actual apology from her son. She put her arm around his shoulders, only within her reach because he was slouching. "Oh sweetheart, you know I will always come. You could be less of an idiot about it though." They smiled together, knowing that this was neither the first or last time she would bail him out.

"I'm never drinking again." Opie's words were muffled as he wiped his mouth with the neck of his shirt. The boys and Gemma walked into the house where she prepared the spare bedroom for Opie to spend the night. She was tougher than most others and fiercely protective, but against all views Gemma Teller was a nurturing mother.

Down the block the burning embers of a lit cigarette floated in the dark to John's lips. He often sat on his bike in this spot when he returned from rides after the sun had gone down. From here he was comfortably isolated, able to observe his home and family from a distance until he was prepared to return and participate in their chaos.


End file.
